A Rose in Abandoned Arabian Peace
by Quwinntessa Starber
Summary: Sequel to A Rose In Peaceful Arabia. Quatre was forced into a marriage three months ago, but now dearly loves his husband and lover but the dark secret that pushed his marriage is about to be revealed. 13x6x4


A Rose in Abandoned Arabian Peace  
  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Quatre was happy, really and truly happy. With a burst of speed that would have made his mother blush, Quatre raced passed the kitchen staff, making sure to throw a, "Hello," over his shoulder to Hilde. Pushing past the oak doors, Quatre ran full speed past the twenty foot dinning room table-- already being prepared for dinner--and then burst into the hallway. He watched without seeing as priceless heirlooms and paintings worth thousand flew by him in his haste to get to the library. Treize would be there, and so would Milliardo, Quatre's family.  
  
At the door, he didn't knock, just burst in. He wasn't anything like the young boy he'd been three months ago. That shy and repressed young man was long gone now, replaced by the one that stood in the doorway, a bright smile of triumph lighting his entire demeanor.  
  
He was a bit taller now, a sudden growth spurt catching him in the last month or so. His hair was still the color of corn silk on a warm summer's day, and his face still very much like that of the angel his husband had taken to calling him. But his eyes were different, the blue more vibrant, the flecks of green more majestic. He'd blossomed since coming here, grown into a capable young man no longer stifled by courtier mandates, but free in the way that only the American courts and his new life could allow.  
  
Three months ago he'd been courted and married in the span of but one hour to a man he'd never met before. Upon arriving to his new home, he'd learned that he was the second husband of Lord General Treize Khushrenada of the American Armies, second to King-Apparent Milliardo Peacecraft of the Saank Kingdom. He'd been terrified until learning that the American courts were different than their European counterparts, different in almost every way imaginable. Where the European courts had been harsh and cold, the American courts were open and warm. In his new home he was exotic Sultan Quatre Raberba Khushrenada of Greater Arabia, otherwise known as The Lands of Sand. In Europe it had been a title with no substance to back it up, but here in America, where beauty was priced more than actual power, Quatre held more sway than he could have possibly imagined.  
  
It was in his husband's home, along with Milliardo, that Quatre had found love and acceptance, along with the divine right of manhood. In the morning he rose, surrounded by both Treize and Milliardo's perfection; and at night, he returned to that same perfection. And Quatre loved them, more than he'd ever thought possible upon their first meeting in a transport vessel. But he hadn't told them that yet, keeping his emotions silent until he was sure not an ounce of doubt remained. When he told his husband and lover that he loved them, he would mean it with every fiber of his being.  
  
Now, as Quatre stood in the doorway of the library, watching as his husband stood from his desk by the window, and his blond lover rested the heavy book closed on the table in front of him, Quatre wasn't entirely sure why he was hesitating his confession of love. The European courts had taught restrain and disciplining, his mother had taught him to be soft and gentle, neither had taught him to give away his heart without serious consideration of the consequences. Love in Europe was reserved for one's hunting dogs, and brandy; love, according to his mother, was something never to abandoned once found. He was sure he loved them both--husband and lover--but he kept silent, vowing to extinguish all of his doubts before those three words left his mouth and sealed his fate for eternity.  
  
"Milliardo told me I wasn't allowed to ask. I considered listening to him, and then decided against it. How did you do, Angel?" Treize's voice was full of mirth as he stood smiling, the sunlight through the window setting his hair aflame.  
  
His husband was tall, well built, and in every way perfect. German in origin, his body was broad, but proportioned in such a way that he commanded attention while still seeming to fit the soft tenor of his voice. He was a gentle man, not prone to anger, despite the red-brown hair atop his elegantly featured head. His eyes were a mild blue color that turned to navy when aroused, and Quatre was quite happily familiar with that sight.  
  
"I did try to stop him, Quatre, but you know our husband--leaps before he looks sometimes." Secretly, Quatre hoped that one day he'd look very much like Milliardo. Tall and thin, with a build that only enhanced his appearance, Milliardo was the picture of pure European beauty. Straight blond hair to his waist, baby blue eyes encased in porcelain pure skin that had just been touched his last weekend during the hunt by the sun. He was graceful like his husband, warm and tender to the point where Quatre turned to him on the rare days he needed more than Treize could offer. Older than himself by five years, but still younger by the same from Treize's 26, Milliardo held his age well in both of his masks.  
  
Like Quatre, the European courts had harmed Milliardo in more ways then were readily apparent on the surface. Quatre had learned of Milliardo's hardships growing up with a father who felt his choice to take a husband instead of a wife was both ridiculous and unforgivable. He'd not been privy to the details but knew it had taken a great deal of blackmail and threat on Treize's part before he was allowed to take Milliardo's bond. But the ordeal of the courts had shaped Milliardo Peacecraft into a hard boy of only fifteen when he'd bonded to Treize Khushrenada; and though their husband had found the lost boy hidden behind it, the mask was always present in the public.  
  
Smiling, Quatre gave a laugh and a little twirl in the doorway. "I got it! I got first chair!"  
  
"Bravo, Quatre!"  
  
"Didn't I tell you not to worry?"  
  
Quatre hadn't always been this free, the very idea of twirling circles in his library back in Baghdad sent shivers up his spine. It wasn't that his mother had been a cruel woman, quite the contrary, she was possibly the warmest woman in all of the European courts. But she was training her daughters and her son to function in the European courts, and while Lady Quatrene Winner believed in joy and happiness, it wasn't to be displayed in the library.  
  
He was across the room the moment Treize came around the desk. Strong arms caught him and pulled him close. The spice of male cologne intoxicated Quatre, and he felt himself nuzzle against Treize's chest, soaking up the fragrance. He knew Milliardo was there before those long delicate fingers wound into the hair at the nape of his neck--his weak spot.  
  
With a gentle moan, his head fell back. Immediately soft lips went to his mouth and his neck.  
  
It was still so strange to him. The idea of one lover was hard enough, but two…it fathomed his mind some days. He was lucky, blessed even he might say to one that believed. Treize was good to him, spoiled him really, and Milliardo wasn't any better. They rejoiced in surprising him, marveling him with trinkets he would have know had his family had any money to spend on things other than food and shelter. Not a day passed that didn't included some new thing Milliardo had to show him, or a new toy of some sort that Treize could not resist bringing home for him. But material possessions had been of little consequence to him before his marriage, and while they pleased and excited him, he received most of his joy from their touch.  
  
It was more than sexual, far, far more. It was the way Treize ran his hands though his hair as Quatre rested comfortably in his lap listening to his husband read. It was the way Milliardo would pass him the hallway, always finding a way to brush his hand against Quatre's and offer that same inviting smile. Touch he hadn't expected, it wasn't normal. Sex was one thing that was expected. But to be touched for the pure sake of touch, because it felt nice and right, that wasn't something Quatre had prepared himself for, and it was one of his greatest joys.  
  
Gently, Milliardo's tongue sought entrance, and Quatre gladly complied. Treize's skilled hands went to Quatre's uniform jacket and slowly released the buttons before tugging it gently off and away. Absently, Quatre made a mental note to have Hilde press it if she had time.  
  
Milliardo's hands were already attacking the buttons of Quatre's dress shirt, and he leaned back to make the task easier. When the buttons were undone, Milliardo released him, and Quatre let out a giggle as Treize picked him up and carried him to the couch.  
  
With care, Treize settled against the arm of the couch, draping Quatre's body on top of him, along his length. Turning his head against Treize's chest, Quatre watched as Milliardo knelt in front of the couch, his eyes sparkling.  
  
"You were a tad overdressed, Little One." Slim fingers ran over Quatre's eyelids, and he mewed softly at the caress.  
  
"Tell us how it went, Angel, every detail." His husband's voice was warm, sending delicious shivers down Quatre's spine. Treize laughed. "Time enough for that late. Now, tell your husband and lover how the day went."  
  
With a sigh Quatre settled into his tale.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Good morning, Quatre."  
  
"Good morning, Duo, Heero, Relena."  
  
It was the same every morning. From their coastal house in the America's it wasn't an hour by transport to the Saank Kingdom, and the exclusive school that Quatre and the others attended. The ride gave him plenty of time to finish his homework so that he could devote his home time to those that mattered.  
  
Once he arrived at the campus, Duo, Heero and Relena usually met him. Sometimes Trowa was there as well, but usually the other boy was a late riser, so the others waited for his transport to arrive. This morning was like most.  
  
Duo was in exceptionally high spirits. "Today's the day! I bet Trowa tries to convince Une to let him fuck her senseless rather than come to school today. I don't know why? Hey, Heero, any idea why Trowa gets so nervous about these things? He always gets first chair with that flute of his. God, I envy Une when it comes to that mouth of his!"  
  
It had taken Quatre this long to understand Duo's way with words and self-expression. Born with nothing and no title at all, he'd been a servant in the house next to the Yuy residence. He and Heero had taken to an affaire that Heero's father had all but killed his son over. But at the same time, Princess Relena Peacecraft had found love in a similarly unacceptable place, the arms of General Lucretiza Noin, the only female general in the Saank army. So, a plan was formed with the help of Milliardo, and Relena married Lord General Heero Yuy, and General Noin married Duo Maxwell, a servant. Quatre wasn't positive, but he was fairly certain that though married on paper, Heero and Duo had spent one night with their wives, and not a single night since. The arrangement would have been balked at in Europe, so Milliardo had arranged it so that--while still respected in Europe--the King-Apparent and Princess of Saank spent most of their time in the American court.  
  
"I thought he played beautifully at the competition yesterday. They'd be fools not to allow him to sit first chair." And he meant it. Since arriving in the America's, Prince Trowa of France, and Quatre had become good friends, often practicing their respective instruments until commanded by wife and husband to return home for the night. Trowa was quiet but kind, and as a former member of the European court, he was always willing to offer Quatre assimilation advice. He was a true friend, and an even stronger political ally. Quatre wasn't opposed to being friendly with people he though could become political allies, but with Trowa it was different. They were friends, and Quatre was grateful for that simple fact alone.  
  
"You played incredibly as well, Quatre. I've never heard the violin sound the way you made it sound, it was as if it sang on its own." Relena was a small girl, pretty but not beautiful. She was soft spoken, but played politics as if a war was always forthcoming. But she was kind with those she trusted, and Quatre--lover to her only brother--was thankfully, one of those people.  
  
"Thank you. I only hope it's enough. I played the violin back home mostly out of boredom, not to mention it was a nice parlor trick to showoff with. But I do love to play. It would be a great honor to make first chair."  
  
"Well, we find out at the end of the day." Duo smiled, wrapping his arm about Quatre's shoulders. It was a common gesture with Duo, and though it had at first made Quatre nervous, it was now only the simple gesture of a friend.  
  
Heero's voice was methodic, and calculated when he spoke. Though the boy had been raised for the American courts, his father had been from those in Europe, marrying into an American family. So while Heero had attended galas and parties in America, he'd been taught the strict ways of Europe. Quatre often thought it was a pity Heero was not a member of the European court, he was the epitome of male perfection when it came to courtesan behavior. "Here's Trowa's transport. You're on bottom." The last was obviously said to Duo.  
  
"Shit. Oh well, top or bottom, doesn't matter much to me." He shrugged, going to stand next to Heero; while Relena smiled.  
  
In truth it wasn't something he was familiar with. While not every night, he, Treize, and Milliardo made love often, more than Quatre thought most married couples did. It was familiar now, comforting really to make love to them, to be loved in return. It wasn't the same very night, there was more variety to the simple act than Quatre thought possible; but if it ended with penetration it was he on the bottom, either Treize or Milliard above. To say he wasn't curious would be a lie, he wondered briefly at what the reverse position must feel like. But it was an easily stifled curiosity, both from slight embarrassment, and the simple fact that Quatre liked their positioning the way it was and saw no reason to change it.  
  
When Trowa exited the transport, Quatre wasn't entirely sure the taller boy would make it.  
  
"Oy, Trowa, you couldn't get Une to let you stay in bed?" Duo's smile showed clearly in his voice.  
  
But Trowa only softly shook his head, his hand going immediately to Quatre's shoulder. "Stay with me today, Quatre. I feel like I'm going to lose everything I've eaten for the last week any second now."  
  
The group laughed and went to classes, each hoping the day would end quickly.  
  
* * *  
  
As a group, they made their way to the Saank concert hall. Every year, the hall held trials for the orchestra. Saank was known for its pacifism and its arts, music being one of them. Trowa had insisted that Quatre try out, even going so far as to pay Treize a visit. Seeing it as a chance to spend more time with his friend, Quatre agreed, and settled for one of the many open seats. But upon hearing him play, Trowa had insisted that Quatre tryout for first chair. After being assured that those who didn't make first chair still had a chance at one of the others, Quatre agreed. He didn't think he was good enough, not nearly as good as the others he'd heard, but he'd tried, which was a great accomplishment for a boy as shy as Quatre.  
  
At the board, he'd heard Duo's whoop of triumph, but had been too buys catching Trowa who'd all but passed out from the relief to notice what Relena was saying right away.  
  
"I'm sorry, Relena, what did you say?"  
  
"I said, congratulations, you made first chair."  
  
It had then been Trowa's turn to catch, him.  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"Didn't I say to you just this morning, 'Quatre, you'll do just fine.' Didn't I say that?" Milliardo was mocking him and Quatre knew it, but he took it good-naturally and snuggled more firmly into Treize's chest. "You doubted me, didn't you, Little One. Me, the King-Apparent to the Saank Kingdom. Well, I must say, I'm rather appalled."  
  
Quatre giggled. "I didn't say I doubted you, only that you have to say such things to me, lest I kick you in your sleep." That earned him a sound tickling and Milliardo raced his fingers over Quatre's ribs, while Treize held him down.  
  
When they'd finished torturing him, Quatre shifted to sit up, looking down at his husband. "Trieze, you do understand I'll have to spend more time in the rehearsal hall now, don't you. There's only so much practicing I can do on my own. I brought the schedule home with me, but it's very demanding. That-that won't be a problem, will it?"  
  
They hadn't talked much about the hours of practice Quatre would need everyday to maintain his position. He'd been a bit afraid to admit it to his husband, the time he'd have to spend back in Saank. Quatre himself wasn't looking forward to it if truth be told. Oh he was very excited to be able to spend so much extra time with Trowa, but he loathed being away from his husband and lover. They hadn't been a family very long, and it pained him that he'd have to leave them already.  
  
But as he watched, Trieze just smiled and Milliardo lightly petted his hair. Treize's words eased much of Quatre's fears. "I understand, perhaps more than you, the rigors of your training, but I imagine it will make our times together that much sweeter, don't you?" And he punctuated his question with a kiss that left little to wondering about what he was now referring too.  
  
Quatre, breathless after the kiss, turned to Milliardo with passion in his eyes. "Can we tell Hilde to hold dinner for a few hours?" The laughter that followed Quatre's chased form into the bedroom was music to his ears, but not nearly as compelling as the moaning that soon followed.  
  
* * *  
  
Hours later they'd eaten dinner and returned to the library, sated in more ways than one. The fire roared warmly in the oversized fireplace, and Quatre sat close to it, laying on the cashmere carpet with the hounds, petting them absently as he considered the upcoming months.  
  
Unlike year round orchestra's, this one only ran for the first term of school, effectively ending with a Christmas performance that was legendary in it's spectacle. Word had traveled far about the amazing music to be heard from the Saank musicians, and Quatre was inspired to know he was now one of them. Many of his sisters and their husbands would attend the concert, and he grew even more excited at the idea of seeing them all again.  
  
Then there was his mother. Quatre hadn't seen her these last three months except over the video equipment Treize had instructed him in how to use. He spoke with her nearly daily, but it was hard to see her and not be able to hug her, feel her warmth about him like he had before coming here. He found himself often--after thinking about his mother--seeking out his husband for that very same contact. This time was no different.  
  
Treize was seated upon the couch, Milliardo snuggled in his lap. Quatre was surprised to see the two of them watching him, but smiled none the less as he rose and moved from the fire's warmth. He saw Milliardo make to move, but shook his head as he turned his back to them and sat contently between Treize's slightly parted legs. He smiled as WhiteFang and OZ moved to surround their masters, their heads coming to rest just within reach of Quatre's hands and willing fingers.  
  
Quatre lifted his head as Treize's fingers wound into his own hair, brushing back his tousled bangs. "What troubles you, Angel?"  
  
Quatre sighed. "Nothing, just thinking about my mother." Quatre was aware that most boys did not contemplate their mothers as much as he did. Indeed, most barely acknowledged them after the age of bonding arrived. But Quatrene was the only parent Quatre could really remember, and so he loved her twice as much as most. Beyond that, his mother had been kind and loving--a trait that even the European courts and destitution could not drive out of her. She had loved him most of all his sisters, and Quatre had made it a point to never take that love for granted. He wanted her happy, and yet the last time he'd seen her she had been anything but.  
  
There were rumors--one's Quatre had heard only in passing because they had been about him--that spoke of a man named Dermail. Dermail was an affluent member of the European courts, and the old man had made it a point of seeking Quatre's attentions. He knew little of the man, save that his mother feared him, and that was enough for Quatre to hate him. It didn't hurt that Dermail frightened him to death, or that in the rare times he'd managed to get Quatre alone, the words he'd whispered about what he planned to do once Quatre was his, would have made even a veteran soldier cry. He'd never told his mother of the more--demented--things Dermail had promised to do to him once the older man had his bond. Nightmares had suffused his dreams on more than one occasion because of those words, but Quatre hadn't told anyone, especially his husband. Trieze was a tad overprotective of him when it came to outsiders, and Quatre didn't dare contemplate what Treize would do to Dermail if he ever found out what had been said.  
  
"You know, I did promise your mother I'd bring you back to see her, a promise I've inadvertently broken since I told her it would be within the first month I brought you here. And still the timing is off I'm afraid. But perhaps--if it pleases you--I could try my hand at persuading her to come here for a visit." Treize knew how Quatre was going to react to the news, and Quatre saw it the moment he spun around in hope and joy.  
  
"Really!? Oh, Treize, I would love to see my mother! It's been a long time, and I miss her so much! Do you really think you could convince her to come? She's been so adamant about staying in Baghdad since our bond. I've tried to get her to come just for the day, but she's refused so often I'd given up. Could you try, please? Oh, please try!"  
  
Milliardo was smiling as he traced Quatre's cheek with one long finger, before turning to Treize and playfully slapping him across the chest. "Now be fair, husband. Tell Quatre the truth, or I can guarantee he and I will be having more fun without you than with you." There was a look in his eye that Quatre could hear rather than see, but knew Treize saw it clear as day.  
  
Trieze sighed before capturing Milliardo's offending hand and kissing his pouting lips. "I suppose I do owe it to my Angle, now don't I? But it's such a delicious secret." He smiled, leaning down to devour Milliard's mouth more slowly this time.  
  
But Quatre was both intrigued and curious as to his lover's words, and soon he was beside them on the couch, shaking both of their shoulders to break them up. Treize growled low in his throat, but Milliardo just laughed, and Quatre's bright eyes shone on until Treize relented.  
  
"You'll be happy to know, my Angel, that I sent word just this morning to Lady Quatrene that her son had taken to a light fever. Nothing serious mind you, but I did mention that you had asked to see her in your delirium. Forgive me for deceiving your mother, but I reasoned it the only way to end this stand off. She sent word back--not five minutes later-- that her transport would arrive in the early evening tomorrow. Which I might add, allows you plenty of time not to miss class tomorrow." Trieze was smiling broadly at his deception, and Quatre gave a little gasp of disbelief before launching himself at Treize, and being pulled into Milliardo's lap by four strong arms.  
  
"I can't believe it! She's coming! I've missed Mamma so much! Oh, Treize, thank you, thank you!" It didn't register with him that he'd allowed the less formal term 'mamma' to slip past his lips. The American courts had taught him that such formalities were often wasted outside their European counterparts, and so he'd grown to speaking the reference just as easily as he had mother.  
  
"No need for thanks, I'd do anything to please you. Now, it's getting late, and I've watched you stare blindly into the fire for too long for you not to be sleepy. It's to bed for us." With that, Milliardo shifted Quatre out of his lap and stood, dragging Quatre up, before offering a hand to Treize.  
  
Once up, Quatre attached himself to Treize's arm, not letting go until they began to remove their clothes for bed.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
The first day of practice had Quatre in a great mood. Trowa had pointed out that the violin player sat next to the flute player, and Quatre was overjoyed that he'd not only get to spend hours with his friend, but also hours next to him. Trowa proved the point well, as they talked animatedly under the cover of the instructor's commands to the trombone players.  
  
At the conclusion of the first practice, Quatre was exhausted, but teeming with energy. He knew that his mother would be there when he got home. Trowa understood Quatre's eagerness to see his mother. "If it were my mother, I'd be just as excited."  
  
Quatre laughed. "Mothers are wonderful. My mamma baked cookies whenever she had the chance. Imagine it! A queen baking cookies--but she did it every chance she got to keep our spirits high."  
  
Trowa smiled. "My real mother died not long after I was born. It was my sister Catherine that raised me. I suppose that most would never consider calling their sister, mother, but Cathy has always been like a mother to me so it just fell easily from my lips. She doesn't seem to mind; and as long as I was careful never to do it at court, it worked fine for us. Besides, she made lemon squares."  
  
"Lucky!" Cried Quatre as they walked the six blocks to the launch port.  
  
The port was a large building made from glass and steel. Huge windows, the size of trucks lined the walls and ceilings, while narrow beams of steel kept the structure from caving in on itself. A maze of small shops lined the inside, and it was to a sweet shop that Quatre and Trowa moved as they waited for their transports to arrive.  
  
"Mamma would like some of the chocolates that Milliardo gave me last week. He said he got them here after a trip back to Saank." Quatre began looking around the shop for a box that matched his own back home in the library.  
  
"How is Milliardo doing? I know he's had to come back to Saank quite a lot since his mother took ill. They weren't particularly close, I understand, so I think he comes more to offer support for Relena. Is this the one?"  
  
Quatre looked around the taller boy's frame. "Nope, the box was red not white. He seems to be doing well. He usually returns before I get back from school, so Treize has had time with him, though. Last weekend, he went, and when he came back he was quite upset, I gather he had a run in with his father. Treize wasn't too happy about it, and locked himself in his study while he called Saank. Milliardo didn't let me out of his sight for the rest of the day. He does that sometimes, just shadow's me. Treize says it's because Milliardo craves human contact when he's sad, so I try to find reasons to spend time with him. The other night, we read a book together and when it was finished he insisted on carrying me up to bed. It was actually kind of sweet. Oh! There it is!"  
  
The box of chocolates in hand, Quatre paid for his purchase, and a little something extra to snack on, and the boys moved into one of the secluded Seaters, private rooms for holding meetings while transports arrived.  
  
Trowa resumed their conversation. "Milliardo has always had a conflict with is father. I think it stems back to his early childhood. He was one of those children that believed in an idea so strongly he couldn't set it aside. For example, Milliardo believes, in a perfect world, there will always be peace, however he knows that peace does not come without a price in a non-perfect world. His desire to bond with a general enraged his father. I remember that sequence of events vividly, even if I was just ten." Trowa took a thoughtful bite from the piece of fudge Quatre handed him. "Suffice it to say, his father was a bastard about it and it's a good thing Treize managed to bond with him, I dare say it would have been horrible if he'd been bonded to another."  
  
Quatre nodded. "I haven't really asked many questions--I don't want to bring back unpleasant memories--but I gather it was a horrible situation. In that case I'm glad he's with us."  
  
Trowa smiled slyly. "I'll bet you are. Now Quatre, I think I've given you enough time to acclimate to at least me. You have to tell me-- not that I'm into that sort of thing, what with Une as my wife--but just how does this relationship between the three of you work? It's highly unorthodox."  
  
Blushing, Quatre tried to answer around the bite of fudge he'd thrown into his mouth to cover his nervousness. "We just do, I guess. Trieze is very good to both of us. He brings me things all the time from wherever he travels, and you wouldn't believe some of the things he's brought back for Milliardo. When Treize is gone on business, I guess it just gives Milliardo and I time to ourselves, so we can…" Quatre blushed harder. "…um, you know." Trowa smiled, and Quatre quickly rushed to continue. "Anyway, beyond that, Treize and I spend a lot of time together. He's teaching me to ride a horse, and we've spent hours talking about nothing. I really lo--" Quatre closed his mouth abruptly, he wasn't going to say that to Trowa before his husband and lover.  
  
But Trowa seemed to know what he was going to say and so dismissed the fact that it had not been said. "Isn't it strange though? I freely admit that Une is more than enough for me--the woman is enough for any man! But Treize and Milliardo! They've always been notorious for their sexual exploits. However do you keep up with them?"  
  
This time, Quatre didn't try to hide the blush. "Oh, I manage." Then ducked his head as Trowa roared with laughter.  
  
* * *  
  
Trieze was more than concerned when, not ten minutes after Quatre's transport left that morning for school, the royal Greater Arabian transport arrived, bringing Queen Quatrene. She was more than just a little early, and as he went out to meet her, he could tell her early arrival was not by accident.  
  
"What has happened, Lady?" Milliardo had followed him, and now stood at his side as they watched the aging queen walk towards them hurriedly.  
  
"Treize, Milliardo, inside, this is not a discussion for prying ears." With that she swept by them, so that they had to rush to follow her.  
  
Once inside the library, Treize decided to confess his misdirection. "Lady, I regret to inform you that I have tricked you in some way concerning your so--"  
  
"That Quatre is not sick? Honestly, Treize, as if I wouldn't know my own son's health. You underestimate a queen's willingness to oversee her heir." Treize was completely taken aback, but Quatrene just shook her head. "That matters little now. Quatre is away now for a few hours time, and the three of us must speak." She drew in a deep and shaking breath. "Dermail has made his move. He's coming after Quatre."  
  
* * *  
  
At a quarter to seven, Quatre arrived home. In a rush he recognized his mother's transport, and raced into the house, knowing full well that she and his lovers would be in the library. Just as before, he forgot the teachings his mother had imposed on him for all the years prior to his bond. This was his home, his place to be free, and in the last three months, he'd become a boy as much as a man.  
  
With a last burst of speed, and a desperate crash, Quatre pushed open the library door, and stood transfixed for a moment as he set his eyes on his beautiful mother. He didn't register the silks she wore, the opulence of them. He didn't notice the dropped diamond earrings that he knew his father had given her, and she could not part with. He noticed none of these things as he flung himself across the room and into her outstretched arms.  
  
"MAMMA!"  
  
* * *  
  
That night, Quatre walked his mother to the room he'd first stayed in upon coming to his new home.  
  
"Please don't be too angry with Treize, Mamma. He only lied because I so desperately wanted to see you." They were sitting on the bed, Quatre's head in his mother's lap, her long fingers running through his hair.  
  
"I'm not angry with him, Little One. Actually I'm thankful to him. If I hadn't thought you were sick I might not have come, and look at all I would be missing." She tugged on a strain of his hair affectionately.  
  
Suddenly, Quatre had something important he wanted to say to her. "Mamma, thank you for giving my bond to Treize. I-I've never been happier in my whole life. Living at home, with you and my sisters, that was truly Eden, but here, with Treize and Milliardo, Mamma, this must be heaven, it just has to be."  
  
For a moment Quatrene was silent as her hands continued to work through the corn silk at her fingers. When she spoke, Quatre recognized the sounds of dying tears. "All I have ever wanted was your happiness, Quatre. When I brought you into this world, it was the most difficult of all my births. I knew it would be my last, and I desperately wanted a son. And then…there you were, crying loudly and as perfect as any boy should be. I knew I'd protect you and love you from that day forward with everything that I was. You are my reason for existence, Quatre, the reason I willingly gave up--endured so much for.  
  
"It pleases me you are happy, more than you know. Treize was a dear friend of my family, and I always imagined I'd marry one of your sisters to him. But it was fairly obvious from the moment of your birth, which of my children Treize had set out to claim. He was only ten mind you, but he walked right up to your father and told him that he was going to bond with you someday. To say the least your father was surprised, but he took it all in stride. I remember he ruffled Treize's hair and then placed you into his arms saying, 'If my son stops crying, then I may have to consider it.' Oh Quatre, you quieted moments later in Treize's arms, and I knew it was a sign. I think your father must have too, because after that, he encouraged Treize in your direction. Your father was a very liberal man, thank Allah. It pleased him to know that Treize would protected you when he wasn't around. I know that the day I signed your bonding papers, your father was smiling."  
  
Comfortable and happy, Quatre curled up close to his mother, nuzzling her thigh until his ear was in just the right place. For another long moment they were silent together, their companionship all they needed.  
  
When Quatrene drew in a deep breath, Quatre instantly felt on guard. "Quatre, I need you to do me a favor. Will you do your mother one favor?"  
  
Sitting up, Quatre looked into his mother's eyes. "I'll do anything for you Mamma, you know that."  
  
The queen smiled. "Then promise me this, Quatre: if Dermail should ever approach you, if he should ever…tell you things, do not believe him. Never believe anything he tells you! I have never lied to you, have I Quatre?" Blindly he shook his head. "Then see, nothing Dermail could ever tell you would be true. Nothing…" And with that, she fell silent so that Quatre--concern racing through him--had to put her to bed, before leaving for the comfort of his husband's arms.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
For a month, everything went back to normal, and Quatre still wrestled with the idea of telling Treize and Milliardo he loved them. But gradually, as one month bled into two and then three, Quatre began to notice a great many things were very, very different.  
  
Treize had imposed--under the guise of a potential military upraise-- that guards escort both himself and Trowa to and from the concert hall after every performance. A few weeks later, the guards were accompanying Quatre to school and back again; and while they sat at the back of the transport and did not disturb him while he studied, it was strange none the less.  
  
Then little things became bigger, as the guards now accompanied them even when he and Milliardo went shopping together. If Treize was with them, the guards stayed home, but if it was just himself or the two of them, the guards followed five feet behind them.  
  
The mail and packages began to be sorted though before they were delivered by Hilde to the library, and more than once he'd noticed that packages from his mother had been opened and then repackaged to cover it up. Not a suspicious boy, Quatre waited for nearly a month before asking if perhaps one of the servants was going though them. Treize told him then about the searches, and instructed Quatre not to worry about it. But he did.  
  
But those weren't the worst things. Treize was now gone quite a lot, and often he'd take Milliardo with him. They always returned a day or two later, but Quatre had begun to feel lonely, spending more and more time with his friends. His husband spent his time on the estate with Quatre, but it still felt lacking in something, and so Quatre found himself spending more time with Sandrock and his music, even when his husband returned.  
  
Quatre didn't ask about the long stays away from home though, he didn't know how to. He'd questioned Milliardo once as they lay sated in a tangle of dark green silk sheets. But in a ploy Quatre later realized, Milliardo dismissed the question and moved on to a cursory examination of Quatre's lower body.  
  
After three months of this, Quatre no longer waited in the library for their return, he no longer rushed home, or ran through the house laughing. Instead he found himself shopping with Duo, going to plays with Trowa and Une, and spending time conversing with Hilde and the rest of the staff. The final straw however, was the day Quatre sprained his ankle in physical education class, and told no one.  
  
* * *  
  
He'd arrived home that night, covering up his injury by bearing the full weight of his body upon it. The guards had thankfully brought the car around to the front of the concert hall at his insistence that he was feeling lazy today. He'd begged some medicine off Wufei when they'd been alone for a few moments, claiming a headache had taken him by surprise. But that had been hours before, and the soothing effects of the medication had long since worn off. His intentions had been to ask Hilde for help once arriving home--the last thing he needed was to appear weak in front of the guards, who regularly reported his movements to Treize via vid. But as he'd been sitting in his customary seat trying to focus on his studies, one of the guards had approached to tell him that Treize and Milliardo were at the estate awaiting his arrival--they'd been gone three days this time.  
  
In an angry continence, he'd resigned himself to simply awaiting their departure before seeking Hilde's help, Allah knew they wouldn't stay on the estate for more than a day or two before leaving, the pain wasn't that bad.  
  
He'd arrived to warm hugs and adoring kisses, which he returned as best he could, begging off with a bad day at school when they didn't meet Treize's approval.  
  
The estate was a buzz with the return of the two masters, but Quatre hung back, sighting studies and an important concert coming up. He saw the flint of concern enter Treize's eyes, but ignored it--the way Treize had been ignoring him.  
  
With his ankle resting uncomfortably on the arm of the couch, Quatre had reclined to study. But the throbbing pain was too much for his weakened concentration. Besides that, Milliardo had entered, his lithe frame moving to one of the seats next to Quatre's couch.  
  
The breathy voice could not cover up the hurt. "I thought perhaps our constant absence was weighing on you. Treize and I are planning to stay for a while now, Quatre. Our business has been mostly attended to."  
  
This was a long standing question, and in pain, Quatre had had enough to finally demand an answer. "What 'business'? What is it that you and Treize are doing that takes you away from me so often?" But Milliardo simply shook his head. In his mind Quatre heard the answer he'd been given before. "Quatre, it's just business. Once Milliardo and I are finished with it things will settle down." "Don't worry on it, Quatre. Treize is simply doing what he promised. It's hardly something to worry about."  
  
And this time, as Treize walked into the room, Quatre had had enough. Shifting so that his foot hit the ground hard and a slight wince blinked across his face, Quatre felt the rage of his situation boil over. He didn't hold back.  
  
"NO! That answer is unacceptable! For two months now you've left me here--alone! For two months you've fluttered in and out of our home! I've endured it--I've had no choice! But I won't be silent any longer!" He turned to the blank expression on Treize's face. "I am your husband, and you promised me when we bonded you would treat me with respect and love! I've felt neither now these last two months! You abandon me with no regard to my feelings! I demand to know where you've been, where you're going that you cannot tell me about!"  
  
But Treize just shook his head. "It's just business, Angel--"  
  
"Don't call me that!" Quatre was furious! His vision flashed red, and without thought, he stood to advance on Treize in a desperation so unlike him he felt like a puppet. But as he stood to move, as his weight fell onto his injured ankle, it buckled, sending him crashing to the ground, a loud cry of pain finally issuing from his lips. He clutched his ankle to him as he fought to keep back the sobs that his pain and situation demanded he shed.  
  
Treize and Milliardo were by his side in seconds. "Angel are you--"  
  
"I said don't call me that! You have no right to call me that!" His anger was coming back full force, and it soon overshadowed even his painful ankle. Treize seemed to consider withdrawing before changing his mind.  
  
"What happened to your ankle?" With ginger fingers, Treize moved to trace Quatre's fingers as they clutched the offensive leg.  
  
"Don't change the subject! Besides, what do you care anyway!?" He knew he'd gone too far the moment the words had left his mouth. He had every right to be angry with Treize, every right to demand answers to questions that should have been answered weeks ago. But his last comment had been too much. No matter what Quatre believed, he knew Treize cared for him, loved him a great deal. His words had been underhanded and callous, born from a desperate fear of exclusion in his husband and lover's lives.  
  
Treize's body had gone ridged, and likewise, Milliardo had pulled back as if struck. They stared at Quatre for a solid minute, and still angry and stubborn, Quatre refused to look away. Finally the standoff ended as Treize stood up. "I'll ask Hilde to come in and look at your ankle. She'll decide if you need a doctor or not." Quatre didn't know what to do as Treize left the room.  
  
For a moment Milliardo lingered, torn between following his husband and comforting his lover. Quatre made the decision for him. "GO! I've borne worse than this in these last few months without you here to comfort me! Leave me in peace!" It was a long minute before Milliardo finally rose and moved slowly out of the room.  
  
Seconds later Hilde came rushing in, a first aid kit in her hands. Without a word, she set to attending to his ankle. As the minutes passed to ten, Quatre began to regret some of the things he'd said, but still the anger raged inside him. With pain and anger flashing in his eyes, but the tremble of uncertainty in his voice, he asked one of his dearest friends their opinion.  
  
"Did I do the right thing, Hilde?"  
  
Again there was the silence. Finally, "Yeah, I think you did. No matter what the reason, Treize should have never left you alone for so long. We've…been worried about you. I think things will get better now. Treize said he and Milliardo weren't leaving for a week or two, I'm sure the two of them will apologize and you three will get back to normal."  
  
But Quatre wasn't convinced. "Do you realized, they've left me alone almost as long as we've been together? Hilde, what if this is normal? What if Treize stayed with me those first few months just to acclimate me to the estate, and this is normal, leaving me for days at a time, so that the days we are together are fewer than the days we are apart? Hilde, what if this isn't so different from the European courts?"  
  
She tried to reassure him, but his ears had gone deaf under the weight of his own questions. That night, with his husband and lover sleeping in the master bedroom, Quatre retired to the room he'd first slept in at Windemere. Two weeks later, he left the estate--unknown to Treize-- and moved into a small flat in Paris.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
Quatre left under the cover of night, two days after Treize and Milliardo went on yet another business trip. Milliardo had begged Treize to allow him to stay with Quatre, but Treize had needed him for the negotiations, and so they'd both left him. Things hadn't gone well at all for them, and though his mother urged him to act less stubbornly, Quatre found he couldn't even bear to look at his husband or lover.  
  
They'd tried to reason with him. Treize had brought him a great many gifts from the last trip, and as he had handed package after package to Quatre, the boy had obediently unwrapped them all, before leaving the room, the presents left without consideration.  
  
Milliardo had tried then, taking Quatre to the city for a day of shopping and discussion. But the hours had passed with only Milliardo's voice to fill the void, and when Quatre finally spoke for the first time that day, it was to express his tiredness, and his desire to go home.  
  
For almost a week after that they'd left him alone. However, one night, Treize and Milliardo approached him in the library. They were magnificent together, like fire and light, but Quatre's heart had turned cold over the last week, and he ignored them for almost an hour. When Treize could take no more of the silence he did the one thing that sealed Quatre's decision to leave once they'd gone. He took Milliardo there, in the library beside the fire, not ten feet from where Quatre read with his back to them. The ploy had been to get him riled up enough to join, but the opposite had been accomplished. Anger as he'd never known coursed though the small blond, and when the act was over, as the two had laid worried and scared in each other's arms at Quatre's refusal to participate, he'd stood and left the room, calling loudly over his shoulder to Milliardo, "Whore."  
  
Trowa had found the flat for him, a small set of rooms not far from his estate in the low lands of France. Une had tried to convince Quatre to work out his differences with his husband, but Quatre had merely shaken his head and gone back to his tea. Trowa, who understood what Quatre had gone through the last three months, willingly contracted the place so Treize could not find Quatre unless the blond wanted to be found.  
  
The only thing that had gone wrong was Hilde. Worried about Quatre, but knowing that if she said anything to the manor's two oldest masters, Quatre would never trust her again, the little servant had taken it upon herself to notice that Quatre had made large furniture purchases using Trowa Barton's credit card and had the items delivered to a warehouse for pickup. She'd figured it out quick enough and confronted Quatre immediately. At first he'd denied it, but when she'd threatened to tell Treize for Quatre's own safety, the blond had taken her into his confidence. When Quatre arrived to his new flat that night, Hilde had been waiting for him.  
  
* * *  
  
It was five hours before the guards realized Quatre was gone and informed Treize. Now, the master of Windemere and his first husband were in the library coordinating an effort to find his second.  
  
"Where could he have gone!" Treize yelled, as he paced across the room, dipping in and out of the suns early morning light as it streamed through the lace curtains.  
  
"We should have never left him this time. I should have stayed with him." Milliardo lay across the couch, his hand covering his eyes with his face towards the ceiling.  
  
"You know as well as I do that I needed you with me to get Dermail's location! Nichol wasn't just going to give it up without a threat, and you and I both know he's attracted enough to you that he'd even challenge me and give you the information if he thought it would get him into your bed!"  
  
"It doesn't matter. There had to have been another way. Quatre could have come with us--"  
  
"He has obligations too! School, concert, I didn't want to disrupt him more than I already have!" With a slam of his flat palm against the desk, Treize stormed across the room to pour yet another snifter of brandy; the hounds had enough sense to cower out of the room, sensing the rising tensions.  
  
"Well you should have disrupted them!" Shouted Milliardo, his long form now rising to challenge his husband. "What did you think? That Quatre was just going to abide by this? He's still young, Treize, he doesn't understand! And you refuse to tell him about Dermail! That poor boy has every reason to think that you're abandoning him! For the love of God, Treize, we're gone more than we're with him!"  
  
Setting the glass down, Treize leaned over the bar, his head fallen in defeat. "I will do anything in my power to protect Quatre. You know how much I adore him--love him."  
  
"Yes. Yes I do know. But does he?" At the question, Treize turned to stare at him. "Think on it a moment, husband. You were fortunate never to have to live through the European courts, but I can promise you that abandoned husbands are a rule of thumb there; and that is all Quatre knows."  
  
Treize groaned. "Dear God, he thinks I'm no different than the rest. Of course he fled from me."  
  
The self hatred filtered easily through the rays of the rising sun, as Milliardo crossed the room to hold his husband. "We must find him, Treize. We have to find him and explain to him what's been going on. Quatre has a right to know."  
  
Lovingly, Milliardo took Treize into his arms, holding onto the man who'd saved him from the fate Quatre now believed he lived in. "Milliardo, I fear I have done more damage than good. We must find him, but how? We dare not waste anymore time."  
  
"I believe that would be through me." Treize looked up in time to see Trowa Barton, prince of France standing in the library doorway, his cold expression growing even colder as their eyes locked. "That is, if you can give me one decent reason to not just hide Quatre away and bond with him myself."  
  
Chapter 7  
  
"Would you like a cup of tea, Quatre?" Hilde asked, as she came into the room brandishing a tea service.  
  
He smiled at her kindly. It had been a hard week for both of them. Trowa had come to see him often, and the school had been good about allowing him to do most of his studies through correspondence so as to stay out of the light to prevent Treize from finding him. Trowa had brought his assignments, and Duo and Heero had been trusted with the information of Quatre's whereabouts once they'd promised not to let it slip to Relena who was as frantic about his disappearance as her brother was--supposedly.  
  
Quatre had refused to use the encoded vid equipment to contact Treize. He'd left a note before leaving saying he was going and not to search for him; that he'd find Treize if he was ready to talk. In the last week, he'd done many things, from going out on his own, to having company over, to having Trowa's personal attorney draw up his divorce papers  
  
Now, at six o'clock at night, Quatre sat staring at the papers, the night sky out his window, and warm fire burning in the hearth. Many times that day he'd picked up the pen to sign his name and be done with it, to go home to his mother and forget about Treize and Milliardo. He'd be scandalized though, and his chances of ever securing a proper marriage too small to consider. His family would be ruined, and he'd never have a chance to bring his kingdom back to the glory it once held. But try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to sign the paper, even when he remembered the lonely nights he'd cried himself to sleep in a bed built for three.  
  
Trowa had been his most trusted friend in this hard time, though he urged Quatre to contact Treize and discuss things with his husband. The young prince had even gone so far as to offer to take Quatre as husband to ensure that his family--while not prosperous due to the divorce scandal-- would at least have a chance to continue as it was until Quatre's sons could fix the damage. But while the gesture had been unbelievably kind, Quatre knew Trowa had no interest in him as a husband, and though he hated himself for it, Quatre had found what male perfection was like and could not contend himself with a mistress for all of his days, even if he could find a male to share his bed.  
  
In disgust with himself Quatre harshly set the tea cup down and moved to the kitchen. "Hilde?" The young servant was putting the tea things away. "I'm going for a walk. I'll be back in a little while. I know it's late, so you go ahead and go to bed. I'll see you in the morning. And thank you for the tea."  
  
After a few rebuffed protests, Quatre donned his coat and left the flat for the chilly night air.  
  
* * *  
  
"Dermail?"  
  
"Yes, Dermail. That man has been after Queen Quatrene to bond Quatre to him since…for a very long time." Treize was pacing now, back and forth across the firelight.  
  
Trowa looked confused. "But Dermail has no claim on Quatre. You bonded with him already. How could one man be so dangerous to Quatre?"  
  
Treize turned, anger in his eyes at being questioned yet again by the boy he'd considered his friend. Milliardo spoke up to defuse the negative energy in the room.  
  
"Trowa, I know you and Quatre have become good friends, but this thing with Dermail isn't even known to Quatre. His mother kept it from him, and while I cannot tell you what it is, please believe me when I tell you that it frightened Queen Quatrene of Greater Arabia enough to bond her only son to a man he had never met."  
  
"You ask me to accept your word when all I have seen are actions against Quatre--perhaps the dearest friend I have ever known. Neither of you have been here to see what your absence has done to him. He cannot play anything but music of the most infinite sadness. He no longer smiles because it is in his nature to smile, they are all forced and painful to see upon his face. Were you too busy to notice, or could you tell he is paler than ever before, or that he has become too thin to be healthy? Those are all because of your absence as his husband and lover. He bears the weight of loneliness in the hopes of your two day returns. I myself agreed that he should leave this place, and as of now, am the only one to know where he is. So tell me Treize, is this secret so terrible, so worthy of hiding, that even Quatre's pain--as I've described it to you--is worth it?"  
  
For a long moment, Treize was silent, before he turned, his eyes once again meeting Trowa's. "If Dermail succeeds, if he can get to Quatre, than yes Trowa, the pain you described would be worth it. In fact, I would slay Quatre myself before I let him fall to Dermail."  
  
In stunned silence, Trowa Barton did not look away from the haunted green eyes of Treize Khushrenada. And then the clear and powerful voice of a prince and future king he stated firmly, "You will tell me what Dermail holds over Quatre, Treize, and then I will tell you where to find your husband."  
  
* * *  
  
The claws that grabbed him bit into his shoulder and cheek as he was dragged bodily into the dark alley. In total abandon, Quatre screamed into the hand that covered his mouth as he fought to untangle himself from the man pulling him backwards--and it was a man, that was made terrifyingly clear to Quatre by the pressure in his mid-back.  
  
Suddenly, the arm around his shoulder wretched his body around his assailant, and into a brick wall. Stunned and winded, Quatre barely had time to draw a breath before his attackers body was pressed flush against his, putrid breath causing Quatre to gag as his vision swirled from the impact.  
  
"My, my little prince, you have grown rather beautiful with age, haven't you?" The voice was laced with raw need and cruelty.  
  
Quatre nearly cried when his vision cleared and he saw who stood before him.  
  
"Dermail!"  
  
* * *  
  
"It's not that easy, Trowa. If it were that easy I would have already told Quatre."  
  
Trowa shook his head. "I have come here everyday for the past week demanding answers, and you continue to deny me. I know you haven't had any luck finding Quatre. You may be the worlds finest general, Treize, but I am after all a prince. I've looked into the records, there is no link between Dermail and the Winner family. Dermail and Quatre's father never had business dealings, and neither did he with Queen Quatrene."  
  
Treize shook his head. "You misunderstand, Trowa, which is the same thing I fear if Quatre were to learn the truth. It is better kept a secret from all those that do not need to know to keep Quatre safe. Now tell me where my husband is."  
  
"I grow tired of this, Treize. As his friend, it is my job as well to keep Quatre safe. You're time is also running short. Just yesterday my lawyers conversed with Quatre, and he himself showed me the divorce papers. You have precious little time, Treize. I suggest you explain your actions in a convincing manner immediately."  
  
Trowa's manner was cold as he watched the shock settle across Treize and Milliardo's faces. It was easy to see that neither expected Quatre to go to such lengths. Treize rose first, moving to stand by the fire, while Milliardo dropped his face into his hands.  
  
The general's voice was defeated when he spoke. "I thought perhaps he was only waiting for the perfect moment. Quatre never said the words and I assumed it was because he needed to be sure of them before they were spoken. How could I have been so blind as to think he could love me?"  
  
* * *  
  
"L-Let me go immediately, Duke Dermail! This behavior is outrageous! My h-husband will not stand for it!" Quatre's vision was still swimming and his lungs were still desperate for air, but he fought his body's instincts to remain perfectly still, otherwise his knees would have buckled under his fear.  
  
"So much spirit, lovely Quatre. I do so much love a plaything that screams. You will scream for me won't you?" Dermail's eyes traced Quatre's face with a hunger that spoke of things Quatre never wanted to witness. "Scream for your master."  
  
Quatre's eyes widened as Dermail's lower body pressed rhythmically against his. He felt the tea from this evening rise in his throat, and he choked, turning his head to keep his eyes from seeing what was in front of him.  
  
"N-No man is my master. Let me go, Dermail." The slap hit him hard and fast, and Quatre's right cheek hit the brick wall with enough force to feel as if it too had been struck.  
  
"You'd be wise to do as I tell you, little Quatre. My power over you is so infinite, you wouldn't dare to anything else. Left your husband's house have you? Drawn up papers for your divorce, as well? You're such a good boy, Quatre, a good, honest, gorgeous, innocent, little boy. You'll be so much fun to break." Dermail's lips had drawn close to Quatre's ear, and the blond cringed as Dermail's tongue moved to lick the red mark of Quatre's struck cheek. "You taste like tears and honey. How extraordinary."  
  
"Y-you can't do this…" Quatre's voice was weak, he understood all to well the position he was in. He'd been fortunate all those times in the past, Dermail had only cornered him at social functions, hardly a place for something as despicable as this; but now, away from prying eyes, he was Dermail's.  
  
"Oh, but my dearest prince Quatre. Prince, prince, prince, it's such a lovely title, don't you think? I can do whatever I want to you, and do you know why?" He couldn't answer. Dermail was once again licking him, this time his neck. He shook his head. "Because little prince Quatre of Greater Arabia, I know the truth." Suddenly, Dermail seized his chin, forcing Quatre's eyes to look upon the old man straight on. "You're no prince, but the bastard son of a whore!" And with that, Dermail plunged his tongue into Quatre's mouth.  
  
* * *  
  
The door to the library burst open, and Trowa rose from his seat startled, his eyes wide as they took in the woman before him.  
  
She was just as Quatre had described her. Long silver gold hair was curled into an intricate knot, while long flows of silk wrapped her body in perfection. Her face was still young, though Trowa could easily see that she had lived a hard life. She was breathtaking.  
  
As she came into the room, the buster rifle aimed in the center of Trowa's chest, he knew immediately she was everything Quatre had proclaimed her to be.  
  
"Prince Trowa, I am Queen Quatrene Winner of Greater Arabia. I suggest, if you do not wish to start a war between our people due to your death by my hands, you tell my son's husband where Quatre is." She charged the rifle and released the lock. "Now."  
  
Trowa, for his part, held his cool. "Lady Winner, I suggest, if you do not wish to start a war due to my death at your hands, you tell me how Treize's actions against Prince Quatre have been justified. How you can defend the man that broke your son's heart."  
  
The queen did not lower the rifle. "Because, Prince Barton, Quatre is not a prince."  
  
The room fell quiet.  
  
* * *  
  
It was nearly three in the morning when Quatre managed to make it up the stairs to his flat. His body was a mass of bruises, and the burn marks on his arms bled no matter what he did. But he couldn't feel the pain, only the weariness of his existence, and the sheer terror that the night's events would be repeated ever night for the rest of his life.  
  
One foot moved slowly in front of the other as he moved cautiously down the hallway to the door of his flat. Had he been conscious of his surroundings, he might have noticed the light was on under the door, or the sounds of voices other than Hilde's were floating into the hallway even from this distance. But he didn't notice any of these things, he couldn't even if he tried.  
  
Without thinking about it, his fingers danced across the keypad and the door swung open. He didn't look up, just shuffled his tired legs through the entrance way and towards the sitting room. Now, no longer frozen from the night air and the cold cement under his bear back, the pain was starting to break into his consciousness.  
  
He didn't think he'd heard correctly at first, the soft female cry didn't sound anything like Hilde's usual sound.  
  
The shadow's in the room moved quickly, too quickly in Quatre's current state. He thought for a second he saw Trowa, and then excruciating pain stabbed into his body as someone pulled his glass cut back against a male chest. At his cry, the body behind him turned Quatre around, but the hands that did so unwittingly gripped his burned arms, and just as Quatre thought he saw the terrified blue of Treize's eyes, he gave a final cry and fell into blackness.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Quatre awoke to the sound of a woman crying, and the stabbing sensation of needles against his back. He moaned and cried out softly as something like sandpaper was pressed to the cuts on his back.  
  
His vision swam as he tried to open his eyes, but eventually he found himself on his stomach in his bed. His face was towards the fireplace, and against the light was the silhouette that Quatre was too tired to try to distinguish.  
  
He felt suddenly cool fingers against his face, and with some effort he opened his eyes and saw the answering color of his own.  
  
"Mother?" His voice was hoarse and it hurt, but worse was the pain and betrayal he put into that one word. 'Mother' instead of 'Mamma'. Queen Quatrene didn't notice.  
  
"Oh, Quatre. Who did this to you? Tell Mamma little one, what creature did this to you?" Tears were falling from the queen's eyes, and still Quatre did not look away or speak. "Quatre, tell Mamma. W-was it…Dermail?"  
  
He couldn't suppress the shudder. He couldn't stop the tensing of all his muscles at once just at the man--no--demon's name. He closed his eyes as images came unbidden to him, images of pain as he'd never known it, all accepted willingly to keep a secret that would destroy his family. He couldn't stand the look in his mother's eyes, the realization that all of her best efforts had failed. With a wince, Quatre turned to face away from his mother, and found himself looking into the eyes of Treize who was kneeling next to the bed. He saw then that it was Milliardo running a cotton cloth over his skin, cleaning the bits of gravel and glass still imbedded in it. Quatre closed his eyes and silently let the tears fall.  
  
* * *  
  
Hours or years later--Quatre didn't know which--he awoke to the sounds of crying in the other room. The sound of his mother's tears. Where once that sound would have aroused the most protective of feelings they now made Quatre feel hollow and empty.  
  
His body went painfully ridged at the sound of Treize's voice.  
  
"He's here somewhere, that damnable bastard! Milliardo and I will hunt him down, and kill him as we should have done sooner!" There was a shuffling sound, and Quatre could picture in his mind the way Treize and Milliardo moved as one to answer the call of his honor.  
  
But Quatre had no honor. He wasn't worthy of their sacrifices. Dermail had shown him the truth last night, along with the true cruelty that only absolute power over someone could bring. He shuddered at the memory.  
  
With all the dignity he had left, with swath after swath of bandages covering his body, Quatre rose from the bed and donned a robe he found warming by the fire. It took him some time to put the garment on, but by the sound of Milliardo's voice, he knew his husband and lover were still pacing in the other room. Once the robe was tied into place, Quatre made the painful journey across the room, and opened the door.  
  
* * *  
  
"Please! Quatre, be reasonable! You need me here--at the very least! Quatre, we'll find a way, a way out for you! Please, by Allah, Quatre do not do this!" The queen of a decaying country had been brought to her knees, and as she wept, Quatre felt his heart harden into stone.  
  
His mother had lied to him, to everyone. She'd wed one man and slept with another; and it was this other man Quatre should have called father. She'd betrayed him, his husband, the Arabian people, and for what? So she could make her son King?  
  
He didn't know how it happened, but once the act was complete he felt the last of his emotions drain away until he was nothing but a shell of painful cuts and bruises--his right hand struck the left cheek of his mother's face.  
  
The resounding crack reverberated around the room, and Quatre barely heard Hilde's gasp. His mother's eyes were filled with more pain than he'd ever seen in them before, and yet, his heart did not care. "You have deceived me my entire life, and worse, you deceived the man I called father." Desperately she shook her head. "Don't you dare say a word! You're tricks and deceptions are exposed, and it is I who will pay the price!" He paused as she began to cry, as Treize moved to comfort her and stare blankly at Quatre's dead eyes. "But you are my mother, and were kind to me, and I find I am unable to expose you as much for our people as you-- they must have an heir, a King, even if it is Dermail--"  
  
"No! Quatre--"  
  
"SILENCE!" Rage boiled though the normally quite boy, and he felt the skin on his back separate as his wounds reopened, the warm trickle of blood the only warmth in the room despite the roaring fire. "For your sins I'll suffer for our people! My bond to Treize has already been broken, and my bond to Dermail is eminent." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Leave. I must prepare for my new…husband." And with that, Quatre turned and walked away.  
  
Treize's voice reached his ears moments before he left the room. "Our divorce is not complete yet, Quatre, and whether prince or commoner, I will not give you to Dermail! Go to your room and rest, I will not hand you over to Dermail, no matter what."  
  
Absently, Quatre shook his head. "Whether final or not, I am no longer your husband. The acts Dermail committed against me have solidified that claim in my mind. I am fit for no one but him now. Perhaps it is as it should be, the son of a whore is made for little else."  
  
Warm hands turned Quatre's face then, until he was staring into the tear filled eyes of the man he'd once called husband. "Mark me well, Angel, you are as much my husband now as you were in the beginning. You are mine, and I am yours, from the moment of our bond. Dermail's actions against you have done nothing to harm that. You're honor belongs to me, and I will see Dermail dead for what he's done to you. Do not fear, Angel, none of this is your fault, and even if it were, I would still love you more than life itself." The kiss was sweet, transferring promises of forever with the gentle pressure. But none of it mattered anymore, he was spoiled. Without a glance back, he re-entered his room and closed the door behind him.  
  
* * *  
  
But hope was not entirely dead in Quatre. His mother's words from months before haunted his dreams as much as Dermail's hands haunted his nightmares.  
  
"Then promise me this, Quatre: if Dermail should ever approach you, if he should ever…tell you things, do not believe him. Never believe anything he tells you! I have never lied to you, have I Quatre?"  
  
And the answer was no, his mother had never once lied to him.  
  
With grim determination, Quatre ignored his mother when she entered his room over the next week. He ignored Milliardo when his lover tried to sleep beside him when the nightmares became too much, and he cried out in terror of images too horrible not to be real. He ignored Treize, when his husband spoon-fed him the soups Hilde made with such love and tenderness. And he ignored Trowa, as his best friend kept silent vigil over him every hour of the day from his chair by the fire.  
  
It wasn't until two weeks later, when Trowa had been forced to leave for one night to attend a council meeting for his country, that Quatre finally asked the one question he needed to know.  
  
During the nights, Treize and Milliardo would sometimes leave the flat Quatre had rented. Where they went, Quatre did not know, but on this particular night, he knew Hilde slept in her quarters as his mother entered his room.  
  
For a long time there was silence. Both mother and son had become used to the coldness that entered the room when the queen did. Quatre had spoken to no one these last two weeks, and so it was with much surprise that he addressed the queen.  
  
"Who was he?" An abstract question, with only one answer.  
  
"It doesn't matter, Quatre. Raberba was your father, the man that loved you as a father loves a son. Nothing else--"  
  
"Who was he, mother?" His voice was colder than the room.  
  
The queen had aged years in the last few days, and it showed in the tired and defeated look in her eyes. She sighed, and though Quatre knew she didn't want to tell him, he didn't withdraw his question. "He was a soldier, Quatre, from your father's army. That's all you need to know."  
  
And it was.  
  
Three nights later, as Quatrene slept in her room, and Trowa dozed in the chair by the fire, Quatre left the flat. There was no one awake to see him go--and he knew exactly where he was going.  
  
He caught a cab to the shuttle station, and using Treize's credit card, he boarded a transport to Greater Arabia--or more specifically, the center of the Great Desert, and the training camps for the Maguanac army of Greater Arabia.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
The scorching desert air burned against his face as he approached the twelve foot high fence. His body was wrapped in the light cotton cloth of the desert, and his face and hair were likewise covered from the uncaring sands.  
  
The man that came out to greet him had no such covering, instead, he wore only a pair of dark sunglasses. "Hold on there! Who are you, and what are you doing in the middle of the desert? This isn't exactly a place for a picnic!" The man's voice was stern but humorous, as if the very idea of someone coming out here for a picnic wasn't entirely out of the question, only ridiculous.  
  
Quatre chose his words carefully. "I'm looking for the general of the Maguanacs. I will see him."  
  
The sunglasses wearing man, looked as if he hadn't heard correctly, before suddenly busting into loud obnoxious laughter. "You-you wanna see, Rashid? Kid, go home and join the Corp like everyone else! This isn't a place for someone like you. I can tell by your voice you're not cut out for this line of work. Go back to your mother, kid!"  
  
Quatre didn't take offence, had he been there to join the army, he'd no doubt laugh himself. The very idea of a boy who hated sleep in anything but silk would surely be laughable even to him. But the general--Rashid, could tell him the names of the people in the corp. From there, Quatre could begin his search to find his real father, and perhaps some answers before he returned to Dermail.  
  
He closed his eyes and shivered despite the blazing sun above him. The man at the gate noticed.  
  
"Hey kid, you don't look so good. Are you alright?" It had been a long night, and an even longer two weeks. On his feet, Quatre swayed as the desert winds pushed against his back.  
  
"I must see the general. Let me pass."  
  
It must have been in his voice, or otherwise some action Quatre wasn't aware he'd made, but the gates swung open and the man stepped forward and offered the small boy his arm. "Why do you want to see Rashid so bad, kid?"  
  
With the little bit of comfort offered, Quatre found himself supported not by his own weary feet, but by the tall man before him. Quietly he answered. "I hope he can help me find my father. I was told he was a member of the army sixteen years ago."  
  
No doubt the man at the gates had heard this kind of thing before. Greater Arabia was a poor country, and it was likely that many bastard sons came to find their fathers in the corp. But again, Quatre was surprised when the man only nodded and began to half drag him towards a purple tent set against a backdrop of light tan.  
  
He was so tired. His muscles ached from weeks of bed rest, and while the cuts on his back had finally healed, the ghosts of remembered abuses sent shots of stabbing pain from random areas of his body. Two weeks after Dermail's confession and unjust act, and Quatre still suffered a quiet battle of despair.  
  
Inside the tent it was ten degrees cooler. It was darker too, the blinding glare from the sun absent here behind the deep purple. It took a long moment for his sun blind eyes to adjust; in the mean time he listened to the tall man speak.  
  
"Sorry to interrupt, Rashid. We've got another one here. Says his father was in the Corp sixteen years ago. The boys sick too I think, can't seem to support his own weight and he's shaking a little. I think it might be sunstroke or fatigue."  
  
Quatre's eyes took in the outline of a very great man standing. "Abdule, remove the sand guard. If it is heatstroke, then he'll need to cool off." Gratefully, Quatre felt the cloth about his head and face removed. There was a gasp as the last of it left his face, no doubt they knew their own prince.  
  
"Aw, crap, I'm so dead." This from the man Quatre now knew was called Abdule.  
  
With his eyes just barely able to see in the darker room, Quatre turned his head to address the general, Rashid. "My name is Quatre Raberba Khushrenada, Prince and King Apparent of Greater Arabia. Are you the general of my army?" Quatre watched him nod.  
  
Carelessly, Quatre pulled away from Abdule to stand up and address his general. "I have…have…ques--" Wildly the room spun about, and Quatre barely recognized that arms caught him, before he fell into darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
He could tell it was night when he awoke. The light of the sun did not bleed through the tent and the temperature was considerably cooler. Carefully he opened his eyes. An internal heater was lit across the room, casting an orange glow about the cozy tent. Quatre felt something cool shift upon his forehead as he turned to look about the room, and just barely caught the water soaked cloth before it fell to his pillow.  
  
"So, you've awoken." Looking up sharply, Quatre could see Rashid in a chair at the foot of the bed he rested in. "You collapsed after revealing your identity, my prince. I hope you're not planning on having Abdule shot, I assured him you wouldn't, I'd hate to be branded a liar." There was a touch of mirth against the abundance of respect that came from the giant of a man.  
  
Quatre shook his head. "Of course not. I would never do such a thing. It was kind of him to take in a stranger in the first place, I could never fault a person for kindness." This Rashid seemed to weigh for a moment before nodding. "Besides," Quatre said after a moment's silence. "I owe him a great deal, after all, he did bring me to you."  
  
He wasn't at all prepared for the suddenly hopeful look on the general's face. Something in the look demanded that Quatre notice it, demanded that Quatre commit it to memory as he had so many other wondrous sights in his life. This was a very important moment, and yet, Quatre did not know why. He decided to continue and sort out his thoughts as he talked.  
  
"I require your complete silence on what you are about to hear, General Rashid. The nature of this information is so delicate…let us just say, it would be detrimental to our society if it were to get out."  
  
A quizzical look passed over Rashid's face, but the general only nodded his agreement before prompting Quatre to continue.  
  
Sighing, Quatre straightened his shoulders, sitting up more regally in the bed of gauzy sheets. "It has been brought to my attention, that I may not be the heir as we were all led to believe." Again something flashed in Rashid's eyes, but Quatre continued. "My mother confessed to me, as did…another, that I am not King Raberbra's true son, but an imposter passed off as such.  
  
"My bitterness at this deceit does not matter, but Greater Arabia will be thrown into a civil war if this news is to become public knowledge. I care only for my people, they've suffered enough these past hundred years, and though it is unjust of me, I will continue the deceit if only for their protection.  
  
"But a certain individual has learned of this secret, and though I am bonded to General Treize Khushrenada of the American Army, I am to dissolve my bond and take up a new one, disrespecting the house of Winner but maintaining my thrown." Quatre scoffed then, a self-defeated sound. "There will be nothing I can do to protect my people from Dermail's wrath, but there will at least still be hope for the country though my heir. It is all I can offer now."  
  
"Duke Dermail?" Was the nearly breathless question asked by the giant.  
  
Quatre nodded. "I feel comfortable confessing to you, that the Duke has pursued me for quite sometime, and I care not at all to be bonded to him. But I have no choice, my mother and her lies have left me with absolutely no choice! I either accept my mother's punishment as my own by bonding to Dermail, or he informs the world and I am stripped of my title, leaving Arabia to fend for itself, and you and I both know what will happen! Millions will die in the power struggle between the factions, and I cannot allow that to happen, I cannot allow innocent people to die!" His words were filled with the power of conviction, and it was obvious that this was not a false show of compassion, but the true words of a future king doing everything in his power to protect his people.  
  
"Why have you come here, Prince Quatre?"  
  
Blue eyes met black as Quatre spoke his answer. "No matter what I am, General Rashid, I am still only sixteen years old. The man I believed to be my father is not, but that matters little. The king will always be my father, the man I remember as a child who was kind and compassionate. But there is a man—a soldier—out there who's face I bare, and it is this man I wish to see, wish to question, to know. Perhaps it is selfish, but I would like to meet my real father, and ask him a single question."  
  
"Which would be?"  
  
"Why?" At this, Quatre bent his head. "I do not expect you to understand, General, but my future bond will be most…unpleasant. I find myself in a need to understand this treachery that's been inflicted on me. I must know why, because only then will I know if my suffering will be worth it."  
  
"And if it is not, if your suffering will be in vain, because this father you speak of is nothing, a commoner, a thief."  
  
Suddenly Quatre brussled. "My anger towards my mother is nearly completed into hate, General Rashid. But should I find out from this man that he took my mother against her will, or that she was somehow cohersed into this act, then all will be completely forgiven. I search now to know my father, and to find a way to redeem my mother. If she but loved him, then I can hate her, but if she were forced, if she had no choice, then how could I fault her?"  
  
Rashid was silent for a moment before standing and walking towards the flap of the tent. "What if it is a mixture of the two, my Prince? What if it—like most things in life—is not nearly so easy to define?"  
  
"W-what do you mean?" When Rashid did not answer, Quatre grew angry. Throwing off the covers he stood, menace in his every step. "What do you speak of?! Do you know of this man, this soldier? Did he brag in the ranks, dishonoring my mother!? Do you know who he is, General?!"  
  
Rashid sighed. "And if I did, my Prince, if I knew him well, what difference would it make if my last statement were true?"  
  
"It matters to me!" Quatre shouted, his body moving him to stand directly in front of the General of the Maguanac Army. "Perhaps it is trivial to you, General Rashid, perhaps you don't really care about the goings on of royalty, but when I return to the world of aristocracy, I will be forever shamed because of my divorce! To most that is nothing, and to me as well—if it were because I was bonding with someone I truly did not love. But I was relatively happy where I was, happy enough before everything fell apart around me. You may not care at all, General, but I have already been raped in a back ally because of this secret, and when I bond to Dermail that act will be repeated nightly! So it matters, General, it matters because for the rest of my life I need to blame someone for the things that will happen to me, and as Allah as my witness, I pray it is not my mother!"  
  
Turning from the look of horror in those dark eyes, Quatre walked back to the bed, his head bent in defeat. "No matter what you think of me, General Rashid, I am only seventeen years old, royalty or not. I had a husband that loved me, who I loved in return, and I cannot have him back, I cannot ever have him back, because I will not destroy my people for my own happiness, that is not something I am capable of doing."  
  
The tent was silent for only a second before the flaps were thrown aside, and to Quatre's horror, Treize, Milliardo, and Queen Quatrene came through. Quatre stood to fight, to scream at them to leave him now, to let him find his own answers, but to his shock, he watched with wide eyes as General Rashid opened his arms, and his mother ran into them, sobbing hysterically. He was too stunned by the sight to notice Treize come to his right and Milliardo to his left, too rooted to care when he was wrapped in a four arm embrace.  
  
What was going on, and what was he going to do about it?  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Half an hour later, his mother calming in a chair by the heater, Rashid turned to Quatre—who was seated reluctantly between his husband and lover—and put his hand out for Quatre to shake. Puzzled by this strange act, Quatre hesitated, before accepting the handshake.  
  
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Quatre Winner of Greater Arabia, I am General Rashid Kumeras of the Maguanac Corp, and I am the man you seek." There was an air of resignation to the tall man's voice, and Quatre could easily see as he rose from his seat, the look of worry in the general—no—his father's eyes.  
  
The hard look of Quatre's lips said it all. "Speak clearly and frankly, General, for your very life depends on it."  
  
"Quatre please—" came the cut off words from the red eyed queen.  
  
"For the love of Allah, be silent! You're place in all of this rests on an admission of rape from the man who's arms you ran into upon seeing him!"  
  
"This is not your mother's fault, Prince Quatre."  
  
"I will assign blame, General! Now tell your story!"  
  
And he did. Moving back towards his seat by the queen, Rashid took her delicate hand and began his tale. "I was a farmer in a village a hundred miles outside the main palace. At fifteen I was young and in love with a beautiful girl who lived in the next village. We were betrothed that summer, and I was going to see her, a few lambs to offer in kindness to my father-in-law to be. But when I arrived I was told that the King of Greater Arabia had been through the village and seen my betrothed. He'd fallen instantly in love with her and bought her bond that very day, adding her to his harem. Needless to say, I was enraged. It took the whole of my and my betroth's village to keep me from storming the palace to get her back, and for ten years I plotted a way to bring her back to me, to take back what I believed was mine.  
  
"On the very anniversary of her removal from her village, I went to the palace in Baghdad. I was still young and very foolish, though I'd spent the last ten years doing nothing but studying strategy and all forms of weapons. However, when I arrived to take her back, I found that the palace had already been raided, and a faction of the guerrilla army had taken the whole palace, holding it hostage.  
  
"I snuck in, anyway, hoping to rescue my betrothed in the confusion, but when I found her and the other woman, they were encircling a clutch of princesses keeping them away from the invaders. However, one of the men was not so deterred, and attached one of the wives, another fought him off, and I soon realized that the brave one had been my betrothed. Enraged by the mark the man had given her, I broke into the room and began to fight them off. I will not bore you with the details, but through my rage, I was able to help the liberated palace guards defeat the guerrillas.  
  
"In the end, the King himself came forward to thank me, offering me whatever I wanted, but to my horror, my betrothed did not recognize me, and was instead planted firmly in the seat of honor as first wife to the King. I then asked the king for two things, the first was an hour of unsupervised time in the garden with his first wife, and the second was the ability to offer my second request upon my return. Reluctantly he agreed, and my betrothed and I began our walk.  
  
"To her shock I told her who I was, and how I'd come to be there. I asked her then to come away with me, that I'd ask for her freedom and by honor the King would have to grant it. But she only looked at me, a small smile of sadness on her face. She told me that when she'd been purchased, she'd hated the King, rejected all his advances for nearly two years, even through the punishment the other woman gave her. But the King continued to try and win her heart, and that in the last eight years she had come to love him dearly, more than anything, more than me.  
  
"I cannot tell you how that destroyed me, it is not a tale I ever wish to tell, but I accepted it because I could see in her eyes she was truly happy. When our hour was over, I walked back and stood before the King and she at his side. I told him I had no other wish, that I had lost my only wish to him. Bitterness coursed though my voice, but my once betrothed whispered something into the King's ear, and he nodded once after a bout of shock. He informed me that the General of the Maguanac Army, in charge of protecting the royal family and the citizens of Greater Arabia had been killed by the Gorillas, and that he wanted me as his replacement. At first I declined, but she came to me then, kissed my cheek and asked me to stay, and there was nothing else I could do but stay.  
  
"For another ten years I was the head of the palace guard and General for the military. I was in a prime position to hear the worries of the people, and knew they feared that the aging king would have no male heir. The king himself and I had struck up a tentative friendship, and he spoke often of his own fears at being heir-less. Then one night, the King called me to his private quarters and asked me to sit with him and the woman who had been my betrothed. I learned that night that the kingdom could wait no longer, and was there by request upon death to bed his first wife in the hopes of conceiving a son. Both his wife and I protested, but he was a wise king, compassionate and knowing like you, my Prince, he knew that civil war would breakout soon unless an heir was delivered and it was something that had to be done. I asked him why me, why choose a commoner, and he told me bluntly, that though his wife loved him very much, a part of her loved me as well, and he knew, I'd never allow any harm to come to her or her son.  
  
"Reluctantly we agreed, and I laid with my beloved in the hopes of protecting the kingdom. Nine months later, Prince Quatre, you were born to Queen Quatrene, and I took the army into the deserts to watch over your kingdom.  
  
"There were many times I came to the palace to watch you. I saw you play with your sisters and noticed all the little things you did that I used to do. I watched you grow with pride, and kept silent through the pain when I heard you call the King father. I did what I did for the kingdom, but I've protected it these last seventeen years for you, my son, whether you acknowledge that fact or not.  
  
"So you see, the truth is not so black and white as you would like it to be, but if you must place blame, then place it with me, for if I'd never sought to take back your mother, the situation might never have arisen."  
  
"And my mother might have been defiled, or worse, killed by those guerrillas." Quatre's voice was soft as he spoke, his mind drifting through the volumes of history he'd just been given. "I could choose not to believe you. To think that this is nothing more than an elaborate cover up for an affair."  
  
"No, Quatre, Rashid spoke the truth." Quatrene sat up, her blue eyes focused on those of her son's. "I wanted you to know Rashid, but for the safety of the secret it could not be allowed. Even when your father died, it was not safe to tell you. Speculation was abundant of course, but only a handful of people knew the truth, all but one loyal to your father…to Raberba. The man that did the final genetic test was the one Dermal bought off for the secret. Treize's influence in the Americas, was the only thing keeping Dermal from releasing the secret, and while I know you don't think so, it still will be enough. Dermal is a coward, and Treize's protection will keep your secret safe, Quatre. I know he…that he…scared you into believe he had power over you, but he doesn't, not really, he's not willing to give up what little he does have to Treize should the nature of your parentage be brought to light."  
  
Quatre laughed cruelly at this. "Nature of my parentage, that's a very poetic way of putting it, Mother. And yes indeed, Dermal did managed quite well to 'scare me' into believing him. I bear the marks to prove how effective his tactics were." The queen's voice caught on a sob as Quatre continued, his head shaking back and forth as he looked at no one. "Whatever you might think, the risk is too great. I know for fact now that I should not be king nor prince nor any such title of royalty! I am a commoner like all the rest, and it's only fitting I suffer with them."  
  
"Wrong." Stunned, Quatre turned to the man who had spoken, and found his eyes arrested by the blues of Milliardo. "What was done to you will not be forgiven, Quatre. Dermail's days are already numbered, and soon he'll be nothing if not a horrible memory for you. But you were wrong. You are royalty. Your father, King Raberba loved you very much, and it's that love that makes you his son, just as much as General Rashid's love makes you his son as well. It is the son of the king that inherits the throne, and while the word bloodline is in there somewhere, it cannot predict the character of a good king, and you, Quatre Winner Khushrenada will be the king of prosperity for these lands. Do not put such faith in blood, Quatre, do you think Treize is truly of noble blood? He's the adopted son of the kitchen staff killed in a fire. The adoption was silenced behind the death of his mother's first born, and Treize took the babe's place, both in name and in heart. Blood is pointless Quatre, or do my own relations with my father by blood need to be examined? Blood does no breed love, Quatre, and it seems you've got quite a bit of just that to contend with." The kiss was lightening quick against Quatre's lips, not giving him enough time to withdraw until it was finished, only to find himself in Treize's arms completely.  
  
A breathy whisper was spoken for his ears only. "We are not the blood that runs in our veins, Quatre. You're father loved you more than words could possibly say, regardless of what male had given you half your genes. Rashid was a good friend to your father and he respected him greatly. There was no pain intended, Quatre, your father was trying to do just what you are trying unnecessarily to do, prevent a civil war." And then those full, noble lips found Quatre's neck and kissed lightly.  
  
And in the wake of all this knowledge, of all this extra added information, and the horrors he'd been through over the last four months of his life, Quatre found he didn't have the will to be cold any longer.  
  
He didn't think about it as he did it, didn't care in this room filled with family, both old and newly welcomed. With a turn and a half sob of painful release, Quatre fell against Treize's chest and cried. He cried for the past and for the harsh future to come, and he cried for his father, who loved him more than words could say.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
As the final cords of the violin fell away, the crowd jumped to its feet, cheering wildly in abandoned passion of the music rendered from Quatre's instrument. He bowed, smiling broadly at the crowd as he raised his hand to accept Trowa's in a final bow of soloists. He turned to Trowa, hugging his friend tightly out of more than just instrumental camaraderie.  
  
The curtain dropped for a moment and then rose again to reveal the crowd, this time with the whole Sanc orchestra bowing gratefully.  
  
Things happened quickly after that. Treize, Milliardo, his mother and Rashid came back to congratulate him, followed by a wave of woman otherwise known as his sisters. They hugged and kissed him, handing him more roses than he knew what to do with. And he hugged them all, kissing them in turn, and cooing wondrously at his nieces and nephews who insisted they too wanted to be great musicians like their Uncle Quatre.  
  
They dinned that night in majesty back on Windemere estate with Hilde presiding over the Kosher cooking of all the foodstuffs. It was a wondrous night, filled with happy discussion and bouts of playful reminiscence.  
  
In the end they learned that Quatrene, after ten years of mourning, was engaged to be wed to General Rashid, a man she'd been secretly dating since a year after their father's death.  
  
It seemed that nothing could be as wonderfully happy as this moment, but a portion of it was very much a ruse. Three months after Quatre's discovery, two since Duke Dermail's mysterious death in a transport crash, Quatre was moving down the hallway to the left, to the room he'd been staying in since returning to the estate with Treize and Milliardo.  
  
Both Milliardo and his husband had agreed that Quatre needed time after the things that had happened, but mostly to allow him to build back to the level of trust they'd shared before things with Dermail had taken place.  
  
None of them expected it to take this long, least of all Quatre. But while soft and gentle touches had been acceptable, the more needy ones of passion threw him into memories he had no desire to relive. Those nights usually ended in tears for Quatre and mild frustration for his two lovers. But they were patient with him, and Quatre was sure that things would be alright soon. He was planning on taking a big step this very night in fact.  
  
In his room, he slipped on the cream silk top he'd stolen from Milliardo the night before. Then, with nothing else to hinder the contact of lovers, Quatre walked back to his husband's door and knocked lightly.  
  
Milliardo opened it, and upon seeing the determined look in Quatre's eyes, smiled brightly to him, as he took the slightly shaking hand and brought Quatre to be seated in Treize's lap.  
  
Immediately, Treize nuzzled the skin below Quatre's ear, as Milliardo knelt to softly stroke Quatre's bare knee. "You were beautiful tonight, Angel. I told Milliardo that not a single person on the stage could compare to your beauty, and would you like to know what he told me?"  
  
Quatre smiled as he looked down at his lover before nodding.  
  
"He told me I had to say things like that, otherwise, Trowa might steal you away from me. I tried to explain that Trowa wasn't a likely threat considering his preference for rather dominate females, but Milliardo assured me, that I should continue to say such things to keep you happy. Are you happy, my Angel?"  
  
Sighing, Quatre nodded before curling himself against Treize's chest. "I'm sorry this is taking so long."  
  
"Don't say such things, Quatre, how many times do we have to tell you that?" This from an indignant Milliardo, who rose up to lay his head upon Quatre's knee. "These things require time and patience, and luckily for you, we have both in abundance." He sighed softly as Quatre ran his fingers through platinum hair.  
  
"I wanted to come here tonight and get it over with once and for all, to try and pretend it never happened, but that doesn't seem like it's ever going to work."  
  
"Quatre, you can't force this. When the time is right you'll come back to our bed, and until then, just be satisfied that you are in my arms, I am."  
  
And with those words, Quatre knew what he had to say next, the thing he'd struggled with nearly a year now just to say in his own head. The moment was right, and even if nothing physical could come from the admission, there was time enough for that later. Besides, Quatre had a feeling that once they knew, and once he'd said it out loud, everything might just fall into place again.  
  
"I love you, Treize. I love you, Milliardo."  
  
"And we love you, Angel."  
  
"Yes, Little One, love you very, very much."  
  
And that night, though nothing happened, Quatre spent his first night's sleep in the oversized bed in over four months, wrapped warmly in silk and the arms of his husband and lover. 


End file.
